Charlie Smith is one of the UK’s leading young explorers. His day job as a graphic designer has enabled him to reach some of the wildest and most remote regions on the planet.

It was an ordinary Cornish February, heavy storms had brought large waves and bitterly cold winds and most of our days were spent eyes-scrolling over the edits of our latest films. There was nothing to suggest that anything out of the ordinary might happen. That was until Charlie called. Most people, given a weekend off work, set their sights on crystal waters and the possibility of a few hours in the sun. We’ve all become quite enamoured by the modern luxuries granted to us, Charlie less so. He's as happy on the ice sheets of Greenland as he is in the coves of Greece and as we were about to find out, in the Scottish highlands as at home in Rugby.

"Hey guys it's Charlie, I've had an idea. How do you fancy jumping in the car and driving up to Scotland with me in two days time for a Ski touring event? The snow looks really heavy but it might be our last chance at the cold this year". We looked across at each other, then back at the screen in-front of us, our eyes fuzzy from the morning's work. "Give us a time and a place Charlie, we'll be there!"

It was the 28th of February and the world was waking up to murmurs from the East, a new strain of virus was moving through megacities and countries across Asia like a freight-train. In Europe hundreds of miles south of us, cases were climbing in the Italian Dolomites and ski resorts were beginning to close their lifts. Here in the UK, by contrast, it seemed strangely quiet, almost as though we hadn't received the memo, but clearly the storm was imminent and our window to film Charlie was closing by the hour. He was right, this was our chance.

We swapped keyboard keys for car keys and colour grades for coats, loading the car with our equipment and some snacks for the journey. Just twenty miles into the eight-hundred mile journey the fifteen year old VW Polo erupted with flashing red warning lights, we pulled tentatively into a lay-by. If we were given the right tools the three of us could probably change a tyre but this clearly called for some more experienced backup. It was far from the ideal start but after an hour spent roadside with the mechanic we were back en-route, minds racing with the images of distant snow-capped peaks.

Our first stop en route to the Highlands was Charlie's grandparents house in Rugby, a small unassuming town known only to the outside world for having a bloke named William pick up a football and started passing it around with his hands. The hospitality was excellent, tea and biscuits on arrival and wardrobes packed full of the outdoor industries latest kit. As Charlie sifted through layers of expensive jackets, thermals and trousers throwing them at us in turn, we couldn't help but feel he was going over the top. It was Scotland after all, I'd been on a beautiful holiday to the Isle of Skye two years prior and Ollie assured me that his week spent there fell well short of anything that could be described as "gnarly". We politely accepted the bags of kit and in a manner that a champion Tetris player would applaud, choreographed everything into the Polo. Charlie opted for the more spacious and scenic train ticket to the mountains, a wise move.

Now I'll probably get into some trouble with Midlander's for writing this but you lot had us fooled. We thought, by virtue of it being called the Midlands, that we'd find ourselves in the middle of the land and halfway on our Journey. We were wrong, it would be six more hours before we were lounging out on a tartan rug feasting on something deep fat fried. It was always a nervous moment as we turned the keys in the ignition of the Polo, thankfully this time she roared into action and we were once more on our way to the mountains. Signs for Leicester, Nottingham and Leeds passed by our windows before rolling green fields became the de facto scenery. At the sight of any small grassy knoll one of us would exclaim "must be the Lake District". I'm not sure we ever figured out if we were right, but there were six hours to kill and the Polo only had a tape player. For younger readers, tape players are a bit like vinyl, except they don't have a hipster following so they've been lost to the memories of our youth.

A few well placed coffee stops and some world class eye-spy later and we eventually found ourselves in Killin, a morbidly named, but incredibly picturesque town nestled quietly in the foothills of the highlands. As we sat down for dinner in the hotel restaurant that evening we felt obliged to try Scotland's most popular drink, "Irn Bru". It's a drink that quite literally says on the can 'might have an adverse effect on activity and attention in children'. In fact there's much I've later found out about this Scottish "delicacy" that I think is worth sharing.

1. Coca Cola is the number one selling drink in all but four countries in the world. Scotland is one of them.

2. The world's largest horse reportedly worked for the manufacturers of Irn Bru.

3. It was originally called Iron Brew until most of the vowels were dropped in 1946.

4. It's disgusting (sorry Scotland, we still love you).

It was a short night's sleep. The camera chargers whirred away through the night and the tartan floor heating, which we couldn't figure out how to turn down, made the room one hundred degrees. It's the nordic countries that are famous for saunas, we thought, hopelessly putting on five layers and bracing ourselves for the two degrees outside temperature. We had agreed to meet Charlie at the base of the mountain, where he'd pitched his tent the night before ready for the following day's antics.

As we drove through layers of low-lying clouds we couldn't help but feel we might have driven an awfully long way to see nothing. But unexpectedly, spectacularly and most important of all, cinematically, the polo emerged from beneath the clouds revealing a stunning vista of snow-topped mountains, deep blue in the four o'clock light. We couldn't believe our eyes, there was an abundance of snow, the kind you dream of as a small child on Christmas Eve. Sat calmly in the valley below us lay a cloud-inversion, a rare weather phenomena, we'd rolled the dice and the gods had given us a royal flush, we got to work.

It was great seeing Charlie in his element, moving with purpose through his morning routine with tools I can only admit to have seen myself in outdoors shops. I consider myself of average ability when it comes to assembling and putting aways tents, Charlie on the other hand reminded me of those kids you see on YouTube who solve Rubik's cubes in ten-seconds, well rehearsed and with too much free time on weekends. Quickly enough he'd cooked up some boil in the bag breakfast, packed the tent away and had his skis on, map in hand, ready for the day's climb.

If we thought there was going to be some kind of hour long introduction to the mountains from Charlie we were wrong. He simply looked up and said, "It’s too steep that way, let’s head around the right side following the fence line to the top of the first ridge, then we can start the real climb. Follow my tracks, oh, and watch out for the rivers below the surface." And with that, we were off. The snow was thick and the sun dazzling as it reflected off the ridge lines above us. For a few hours we followed Charlie's tracks as he zig-zagged seamlessly upwards. We weren't on skis meaning it was hard work, but the breathtakingly beautiful views kept our minds occupied. As is the case with all great summits and we're putting this one into that category to make ourselves feel good, there were a number of false peaks. Each time we thought we'd made it to the top another ridge rose up out of nowhere in-front of us. Slowly but surely we reached the crest of each and soon enough we stood admiring the mornings effort on top of the mountain. The sky, now clear of clouds, stretched for miles and we could see all the way down into the valley below with Loch Tay, a deep blue, shimmering magnificently. To our right was 'Lockan na Lairidge' a reservoir popular with trout and char fishermen and to our left, a herd of twenty or so sheep. Charlie gazed out, contempt with this latest foray into the cold. "I've never seen this much snow here! I told you guys Scotland would deliver" He exclaimed.

With a weather front coming in later that day, we stole a brief half-hour on top of the mountain to put the cameras down and soak it all in. As serene as the scene was, waiting another hour would leave us in a situation we were hopelessly unprepared for and so with a last glance and a few uncharacteristic selfies, we embarked on our journey back to the valley floor. As Charlie navigated the tricky sections between ridges we captured wide and close-up shots of his descent, his skis eventually flying right past us on their way down. It only took him a matter of minutes on skis as he quickly became a smaller and smaller speck in our peripheral vision. An hour or so later we reconvened in the car park and headed back to the hotel for breakfast. It was only 10am, what a morning it had been.

The rest of the trip flew by, we returned to the mountains to capture a few different scenes, hiked along the shores of Loch Tay and even managed to squeeze in an evening meal at the local pub. None of us fancied leaving Scotland but before we knew it our time had come to an end and we were crammed back into the polo with eight hundred return miles in-front of us. The murmurs from the East were getting louder and it was time to go home. It really was our last chance at the cold, the UK entered lockdown two weeks later.